The Forbidden Billionaire (The Sinclairs Book 2)

by Scott, J. S.

  Jared felt like she’d gutted him. “You trust me?” The certainty in her voice when she’d said she knew he hadn’t murdered anybody made his heart clench and pissed him off at the same time. What in the hell was she thinking? He could be a serial killer, for all she knew. Still, knowing that she trusted him enough not to need any explanation of his earlier confession completely blew him away.

  “Yes. I trust you,” she answered simply.

  “Why?” he asked hoarsely.

  “I trust my instincts.”

  “I’m a jackass.” He heard it from his siblings almost on a daily basis.

  “Agreed. Sometimes I think you act that way to hide your pain. But that isn’t all that you are, Jared. You’re so much more,” she said hesitantly.

  “If you’re trying to look deeper into my soul or something, forget it. There isn’t much there. The asshole is pretty much all you’ll get.”

  Of all the reactions Jared could have gotten from his comment, the last thing he expected Mara to do was . . . laugh.

  But she did.

  Continually.

  She howled with amusement for a long time, and it really annoyed him that even though she was laughing at him, he loved the sound of her laughter.

  “Murderers aren’t usually into self-deprecation,” she said, still half chuckling.

  “They could be,” he grumbled into the phone.

  She snorted. “Are you trying to make me afraid of you?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Maybe.

  “No,” he finally decided. “I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. I am an asshole, and I’m not about to start looking into my goddamn soul.” Jared shuddered at the thought. It was empty, just like the rest of him. There was no point in even looking.

  “I think I can handle it,” she answered a little more soberly. “I can work for a surly boss. And I still don’t think you’re a jerk all the time. I think you’re protecting yourself.”

  Jared was uneasy with her observations, so he tried to ignore them. “I don’t want to be your boss anywhere except in the bedroom.” Looking down at his raging erection, Jared had to admit that he wanted her under his control just about anywhere: outside, up against a wall, on the floor, in the shower . . . the list could go on and on. However, it had nothing to do with her business. That he had no doubt she could handle on her own. She’d been holding up a struggling shop for years. Working on a business that could actually thrive should be a piece of cake for her.

  “Jared, I can’t—” Her voice cut off in a horrified gasp.

  “What happened?” His heart thundering, Jared catapulted out of bed.

  “Smoke. A lot of smoke. Oh God, the house must be on fire.” Mara sounded panicked and anxious. “I have to call 911.”

  To Jared’s complete horror, Mara hung up the phone.

  “Shit. Mara? Mara? Dammit, talk to me.” Racing to the window, he could actually see the fire burning in the distance, a faint glow in the dark sky. He disconnected the phone and tried to call her back again.

  No answer. Was she on the phone with the fire department, or was she not answering for far different and more dire reasons?

  “Fuck. No.” He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from his drawer and had them on in less than a minute. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he sprinted through the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  It’s raining. The flames will get put out quickly. She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.

  After cramming his bare feet into a pair of leather shoes, he stepped outside and realized the rain had all but subsided. His heart plummeted to the ground and sped up in total and utter terror.

  Get the hell out of the house, Mara. Please. Get the hell out.

  Hopping into his SUV, he drove like a madman toward Amesport. He tried to call her again and again as he raced toward her house, hoping like he’d never hoped for anything before that he wouldn’t get there too late.

  After notifying the emergency operator that there was smoke in her bedroom, and that it was possible that her house was on fire, Mara hesitated, her mind still trying to process what was happening. She snatched her mother’s wedding ring from her jewelry box and grabbed the folder from her underwear drawer that contained critical papers like her birth certificate and some pictures, just in case. She had just turned to escape her upstairs bedroom and try to figure out where exactly the fire was located on her way outside when all hell broke loose.

  The smoke was already heavy, but she’d been certain she’d have time to flee. She hadn’t actually seen flames, but she saw them now as timbers came crashing down with a deafening roar, preventing her from exiting the house as what was apparently a portion of the roof collapsed, leaving the doorway to her bedroom blocked.

  Trapped! Holy hell. This isn’t a small fire or smoking old wiring like I thought it was.

  The gravity of the situation hit her like a rockslide, making her move automatically into survivor mode. Dropping to her knees where the smoke wasn’t as heavy, she crawled toward the door, her heart hammering in her chest as she felt the heat of the flames. Examining her options and trying not to hyperventilate, she realized there was no way out except straight through the fire. Her desperate, smoke-irritated eyes scanned the doorway frantically, finding her only escape route right in the middle of the door frame, a hole large enough for her body to get through. However, she had no idea what was happening on the other side of the door. How much of the roof had come down? Was she going to jump directly into more flames? Would she actually be leaping into her own death?

  Don’t panic. The fire department is coming.

  Unfortunately, from the way the flames were now voraciously consuming the house, she knew she didn’t have time to wait for them. Her life clock was ticking, and she could feel it with every frenzied beat of her heart. Mara clambered on her hands and knees to the bed and ripped off the comforter, standing when it was finally off the bed. There was no water source for her to use to dampen the heavy material. The house was old, and it didn’t have a bathroom connected to the master bedroom.

  She already knew the window was a no-go. She was too high up. If the fall didn’t kill her, she’d certainly have some broken bones and other injuries. There was absolutely nothing to cling to on the side of the house. It would be a direct drop.

  I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here.

  She’d made a critical error in not fleeing immediately, but since she hadn’t seen flames, she’d thought the fire or smoke was contained to one area upstairs. Apparently . . . it wasn’t. Maybe those extra moments that she’d used to alert the emergency operator would have saved her. Or possibly not, and the roof would have come down on top of her as she made her escape. Her mind was murky from shock, and her entire body shook as she considered her options, her horrified stare fixed on her only means of escape as she dropped the folder she had paused to retrieve and shoved her mother’s wedding ring into the small pocket of her pj’s.

  Doesn’t matter now. Just get the hell out or you won’t be alive to need any of it.

  With the roof partially collapsed, Mara knew anything could happen in a heartbeat now. The rest of the ceiling could topple, cutting off any means of escape or killing her painfully.

  Do it. Just do it. You have to take the risk or die.

  Using the comforter as protection, she wrapped it around her body and covered most of her head before taking a leap of faith into the fire at the bedroom door, hoping that she’d be safe on the other side.

  CHAPTER 7

  If there was one thing Evan Sinclair detested, it was incompetence.

  As he walked down the dark streets of Amesport, he cursed the lack of ability of the transport company that was supposed to have had his vehicle at the Amesport airport. He’d arrived on schedule in his private jet only
to find that his vehicle hadn’t yet been delivered to his location. Dammit, he didn’t have time for the ineptitude of other companies. He ran his own business like a well-oiled machine, and he expected the same of every other company.

  Damn his younger brother Dante and his unusual urgency to enter the state of wedded bliss within a few weeks’ time. Evan really couldn’t understand Dante’s enthusiasm to have that event happen so quickly. He was already living with the woman, why did he have to marry her so hastily? That was the real reason that Evan didn’t have his car, and his ever-present driver, Stokes, who never separated himself from the vehicle. Evan’s own transport jet had been tied up doing a favor for a very important business client, unavailable because Evan hadn’t known he would need it. He’d promised it months ago, and had scheduled accordingly. He didn’t like schedule changes, and he never broke a promise once he agreed to something. So, he’d been forced to use a damn transport company that obviously couldn’t deliver, even though they were the most expensive and supposedly the best company in the business.

  “Amateurs,” he growled angrily to himself.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that Dante would end up married to Sarah . . . eventually. After all, he made it his business to know exactly what was happening with his siblings . . . or rather, he should say all his brothers. He’d screwed up with his sister, Hope, finding out about her adventures way too late to prevent her from suffering the consequences of her rash actions.

  My fault. I should have known better than to assume that Hope was living a quiet life in Aspen. Women were trouble, every single one of them, including his sister. Evan knew that he was the only Sinclair aware of all that she’d been through in the past, and it wasn’t because she’d told him. No. She’d hid everything from her own brothers. The only reason he knew now was because he’d gotten a call from Grady that she’d gone missing in Colorado. He’d gotten an investigator involved, even after she’d been found by her now husband, Jason Sutherland, and the agent had subsequently uncovered the fact that Hope had been leading a completely different life than the illusions she’d maintained to all of her brothers. Presumably, her husband knew the real Hope and the trauma she’d suffered, but it didn’t stop Evan from regretting that he hadn’t checked up on her often enough to find out the truth sooner. She’d suffered, and Evan hated that.

  Hope was a very important missed detail, even more critical than business for me.

  He tried not to think about the horror of Hope’s life, attempted to put it out of his mind since she was happy now. And she’d stay that way. He’d make sure of it.

  The walk from the airport into town had calmed his temper somewhat, but he was still irritated by the time wasted for him to walk to his Amesport Peninsula home from the airport outside of town. Yes, he could have called Grady, Dante, or Jared, but it was late, and he was the eldest Sinclair. He wasn’t about to make one of his siblings get out of bed to come pick him up. He’d never hear the end of it from his brothers if they had to come give him a ride in the middle of the night because his car hadn’t arrived at the airport before he did. Such things just didn’t happen to him.

  Evan, the oldest and very anal Sinclair sibling.

  Evan, the manager-of-every-single-detail brother.

  Evan, the meticulous planner who never missed having anything prearranged, no matter how big or how small, had actually been stranded at the airport without a car?

  Oh, hell no. He’d walk until he got to his home, even if it did mean a several-mile hike in the middle of the night and the possible destruction of one of his favorite custom-made suits and fine leather shoes. The rain that had been coming down off and on left him damp, pissed off, and ready to strangle the delivery team the second they arrived with his car. He couldn’t blame Stokes. The elderly driver had never left the vehicle, and he couldn’t control the inability of a company to deliver. Stokes was where he needed to be. The delivery service was not.

  “I should have never trusted another company to deliver,” he grumbled to himself, his hands in the pockets of his pants, shaking his head irritably as he trekked along the deserted Amesport boardwalk. He might not want to call his brothers, but he’d had no problem waking up his assistant to verify that everything had been confirmed. Of course . . . it had. His assistant knew if he failed at one single task, his job would be history. It had been the transport company’s error. Evan would deal with them first thing in the morning, and he’d destroy the bastards who had left him out here walking in the fucking rain. If the CEO of the company couldn’t get a simple delivery to the place it needed to be on time, his company didn’t deserve to be in business anymore. It had been a very expensive botched job, and Evan Sinclair could make or break a company easily. When a company couldn’t perform, he had no problem doing the latter.

  Evan was just about to leave the boardwalk and turn onto the street leading to the Amesport Peninsula when he saw a burst of fire explode from one of the homes at the end of Main Street.

  Was it a business or a home?

  Evan had only been to Amesport a couple of times, but as far as he could remember—and he recalled nearly everything in detail—Main Street was all businesses.

  Jogging across the street, he stopped in front of the old home, which had obviously been converted into a shop. He looked at the window and then looked up at the flames that seemed to be consuming the roof of the building.

  Dolls and Things?

  It was definitely a store, and it was highly unlikely that anyone was inside at this hour of the night. Digging into the pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out his phone to report the fire just as he heard the wail of fire engines.

  “It’s already been reported then,” he muttered to himself, ready to turn and get on his way to the Peninsula. There was nothing more he could do. The fire department was obviously alerted and on their way.

  It wasn’t until he turned that he heard a scream, a terrified wail of terror that sent chills down his spine. Turning back, realizing there actually was someone inside the building, he pushed his considerable bulk against the door.

  Mara flung the burning blanket from her with a loud shriek of horror.

  I’m alive, but the comforter is on fire. Everything is on fire. I need to get out.

  Brushing frantic hands over her clothing from her position on the hardwood floor outside her bedroom, she quickly verified that none of the items on her body—her pajamas and underwear—were in flames. Stumbling to her feet, she tried to get her bearings in the thick, blinding, gray smoke. Coughing harshly, she felt for the bannister of the staircase just as she discovered she couldn’t put weight on her right leg. Mara crumpled to the floor again, whimpering at the pain in her ankle as she scooted toward her right and down the hallway, her hand out, searching frantically for the stairs.

  The steps should be . . . right . . . here!

  Her fingers connected and felt the edge of the first step just before she was bodily lifted into the arms of a very tall, very strong, and very male figure she couldn’t recognize through the darkened haze of fog caused by the fire.

  “Generally when one’s house is on fire, one feels compelled to leave it,” a low, arrogant voice commented, as though he were addressing a person of questionable intelligence.

  Mara trembled with shock as she let herself be carried down the steep flight of stairs to the main floor. The mystery man wasted no time getting her outside and didn’t lower her to the ground until he reached the tiny patch of grass in front of Shamrock’s Pub across the street.

  “I was trying to get out,” she finally responded, her voice raspy from inhaling the smoke. She breathed rapidly, sucking the clean air in and out of her lungs frantically. Looking up at her rescuer from her position on her ass, she still didn’t recognize him. It was dark, and all she could make out was black hair and mammoth proportions. Squinting through her dirty glasses as she panted for bre
ath, she could see he was actually wearing . . . a suit and tie. What the hell?

  He knelt next to her and took her by the shoulders. “Obviously you weren’t trying very quickly or successfully,” he commented nonchalantly. “A fire usually requires a little faster response.”

  Mara gaped as he came down beside her. She could see him now; the dim glow from the fire and the lights left on inside of Shamrock’s at night illuminated his face as he positioned himself beside her. His raven-dark hair was damp and slicked back from his face, and his startling blue eyes were roving meticulously over her body clinically, as though he was trying to assess whether or not she was injured.

  “W-who are you?” She’d never seen him before, and if she had, she would have definitely remembered him.

  “Evan Sinclair,” he snapped. “Are you hurt?”

  “Evan? Jared’s brother?” As he scowled at her and shook her lightly, she answered his question. “My ankle. I couldn’t walk. I was trying to find the stairs so I could crawl down.”

  She flinched as her home starting crackling, and a deafening crash sounded as the roof fell completely into the first story of the house. Fire trucks pulled up just as the upper level fell, and firemen, police officers, and an ambulance screeched up to the house, swarming the residence immediately.

  Evan’s sharp eyes glanced at her feet, and he moved to palpate her ankles. “The right one is swollen. I’ll let the medics check you out. I’m not particularly versed in emergency medicine,” he said, as though it annoyed him that there was anything he didn’t know.

  “Mara!” an agonized male voice rang out from the front of her house.

  “Jared,” she said roughly, her throat still raw from inhaling smoke.

  “Ah, yes,” Evan acknowledged as he stood. “I’d recognize the bellow of my younger brother anywhere. You two are acquainted, I take it.”

  “Friends,” she answered shakily. “He’s worried.”